


Heaven

by neilnordegraf



Category: Scott Pilgrim - All Media Types
Genre: Dry Humping, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 15:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10363365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neilnordegraf/pseuds/neilnordegraf
Summary: Stephen can't really tell what he likes about Joseph - it's more like an amalgamation of everything about him. Regardless, he can't help himself.





	

It’s a glimpse of Joseph’s smile behind thick facial hair, when Stephen does something particularly goofy or when Scott busts his ass. Always a fleeting grin, a half-hearted chuckle, but it’s there, and Stephen’s there to witness it.

It’s the electric shock that runs through him when his hand brushes against Joseph’s, tiny and insignificant, but loud and violent in Stephen’s head.

It’s the butterflies swimming in his gut when Joseph decides that Scott can’t sing for shit, and, thusly, sings backup for a few tracks on Sex Bob-Omb’s album, and Stephen finds out that Joseph has the voice of an angel. A calloused, sarcastic, cigarette-smoking angel.

Heaven.

Soft, warm, fuzzy Heaven.

Joseph is a little drunk, and so is Stephen, but that damn sure isn’t stopping him from playing and singing Aerosmith half-assedly.

Eventually, Joseph stands, albeit a little wobbly, from his spot at his desktop and damn near rips the guitar from Stephen’s hands to “show him how it’s done.”

“You can’t _possibly_ be able to play after that much vodka, Joey.”

Joseph lets the nickname pass in favor of the guitar.

Even under the influence of alcohol, Joseph’s movements are all calculated, perfectly timed, mathematical. Joseph is nothing but logic and determination, which is why Stephen finds himself wondering, _Why the hell do we keep bumping into each other? Am I really that clumsy?_

… _Or is he doing it on purpose?_ Normally, he’d consider that preposterous; Joseph said he was hot, yeah, and he says things like, “You’re lucky you’re so pretty,”  when Stephen gets his way, yeah, but the idea of Joseph actually having a crush on him was just silly.

But now, Stephen’s drunk and splayed on Joseph’s bed, _his_ guitar in Joseph’s hands. All it takes is one glance at the dark eyes under thick eyelashes, staring down at the instrument in deep focus, to set his insides on fire. A confidence long forgotten blooms in his chest, erupting through his fingertips as he slides a hand behind Joseph’s neck, slipping him into a chaste kiss that Joseph seems to have expected. The notes under Joseph’s touch come to a stop as he sets the guitar down next to his bed, holding Stephen by the waist and pulling him closer.

More confidence manages to push Stephen’s other arm around Joseph’s neck, until he’s surrounding him, pulling him closer with every second. Joseph does the same with Stephen’s waist, forcing the guitarist into his lap, so Stephen’s straddling him, panting into his mouth.

When they part, it’s only out of necessity. They stay centimeters away from each other for a moment, Joseph staring at Stephen’s lips in admiration. “Hey,” he whispers, almost shyly.

“Hey,” Stephen manages around a breathy giggle.

Joseph avoids looking at him. “That was cool.” Cool. Cool.

Stephen laughs and leans in for another kiss, gently pushing Joseph onto his back. Hands roam and Joseph’s find themselves under Stephen’s shirt, trailing along his spine, giving him chills.

And there it is - Joseph gives the breath of a whine, something barely held back by his constant restraint - Stephen sees sparks fly, the butterflies being unleashed from their cage in his stomach, fluttering through his chest, his throat, his cheeks, and he moans before he can think about it. His fingers entwine with Joseph’s, electricity making him shake, and _God,_ he’s never felt like this before. Pure energy and excitement and something that he can only describe as white hot pleasure.

When Joseph starts to push Stephen back up, he panics. When Joseph pulls away from the kiss, he panics more.

_(That’s what Stephen does. Panic.)_

Apparently, it’s obvious, because Joseph runs a hand through scruffy red hair and reassures him, “I’m just moving so I’m not twisted around like a pretzel, okay?”

Stephen huffs, but Joseph just pushes him back onto the bed, where his head rests against Joseph’s pillows - they smell subtly of weed and cheap shampoo. While he’s sitting up, Joseph throws his sweater off and into a puddle on the floor of his room, and Stephen’s breath hitches at the sight. Hair, freckles, and tattoos. And Stephen wants to memorize it all.

He dips back down to bite Stephen’s lip, and there are sparks, butterflies, whatever you want to call it, who cares, Stephen whines, letting his eyes fall shut as Joseph kisses from his neck to his collarbone, practically tearing open his western-wear shirt and pulling down the collar of the tight black tee underneath to nip at delicate skin.

Stephen sighs and hiccups, but manages to choke out, “Why don’t you take it off?”

Joseph huffs. “The button up can come off,” a kiss, “but I like the tee.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s tight. I can see your muscles,” Joseph glances up at Stephen, but quickly hides his face under his bangs, “You’re hot.”

Stephen lets his eyes close again as calloused hands toy with his abdomen, and thought leaves him. As a result, all he can say is, “Sick,” earning a snort from Joseph.

“Sick,” And he grinds down on Stephen. They both swear under their breath.

 

// 

 

Stephen wakes around noon the next day, head pounding and voice hoarse. His pants are undone, but still around his waist. His flannel is laying in a pile on the other side of Joseph’s room, and Joseph is nowhere to be found.

The room spins as he sits up, so he opts not to get out of bed, but _fuck,_ this shirt is tight, and he’s sweaty, so he throws it in the general direction of his other top, groaning at the chilly air hitting his chest.

What did he _do_ last night?

Joseph enters the room, thermos of coffee in hand. “Oh, you’re finally up.”

Stephen can hardly see, squinting at Joseph as he draws his curtains closed and hands Stephen the coffee.

“Sorry, man, I needed to see. You’re hungover, yeah?”

Stephen grunts in response.

“Hm. Where’d your shirt go?”

He shrugs. “It was hot.”

Joseph gives him this _look,_ almost like a grin but his mouth doesn’t move. “Bet it was.” And he sits down at his computer, bringing up a code of some sort.

Stephen runs his hand through his hair, realizing how ridiculous he must look. He gelled his hair yesterday. It’s probably sticking straight up.

“Uh, Joseph?”

“Hmm?” Joseph throws a glance behind him, then goes back to coding.

“...Did we…?” Stephen stares at the closet door adjacent to the bed, face red. His stomach does backflips as he speaks.

Joseph snorts. “Nah. I was more sober than you, thought it’d be fucked up for our first time to be while you were smashed.”

“Huh.”

“You good, dude?”

Stephen finally stands, his legs threatening to give out under him, buckles his pants and approaches Joseph. He wraps his arms around the other man from behind. “Yeah, now I am.”

He can tell Joseph is smiling. “Good,” Joseph pets the hair at the back of Stephen’s neck before turning and kissing him. “Now go brush your teeth. Spare tooth brush is in the top right drawer.”


End file.
